Chapter 3 - A Drop of Blood on Parchment
The silence inside the mahogany study was so profound that Elena could hear the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
Rain began to lash against the arched bay windows, driven by sudden coastal winds.
Elena stared at the open pendant resting in Adrian’s scarred palm.
The tiny folded slip of vellum looked like a ghost preserved under glass.
“That is impossible,” Elena said, her voice dropping into a breathless whisper.
“My mother’s name was Clara Vance.”
“She had no brothers.”
“She had no family at all.”
Adrian stood up from his chair with deliberate slowness, tucking the open necklace carefully into his breast pocket.
“Clara was the middle name of our maternal grandmother,” Adrian stated, walking over to his desk.
“And Vance was the maiden name of our mother before she married into the Moretti family.”
He picked up the brass telephone on his desk and dialed a private extension.
“Dominic,” Adrian spoke into the receiver without waiting for a greeting.
“Lock the eastern gates.”
“No one leaves the property, including the remaining gala guests, until my private security team verifies every license plate.”
“Then find Dr. Samuel Vance and bring him up the service lift to my private office immediately.”
Adrian slammed the heavy receiver back onto its cradle.
Elena scrambled out of the leather chair, clutching her wrapped hand against her ribs.
“I want to leave,” she said, her voice rising in panic.
“I don't care about your sister or your family.”
“I need to go home to my apartment.”
Adrian moved between her and the heavy double doors before she could cross half the rug.
He was a head taller than her, his presence entirely blocking the only exit.
“You are not going anywhere tonight, Elena,” he said calmly.
“You cannot keep me here against my will,” she retorted, her amber eyes flashing with genuine fury.
“That is kidnapping.”
“I am keeping you alive,” Adrian countered, his tone hardening into steel.
“If the people who tried to murder Julianna twenty-two years ago realize her child is walking through my halls, you will not survive the night.”
Elena froze in her tracks, the word echoing in her ears.
Child.
The implication hit her like a physical blow.
“I am not her child,” Elena denied fiercely, shaking her head.
“I am an ordinary girl from South Camden.”
“My mother was a cleaning woman.”
“Your mother was the legitimate heiress to sixty percent of the Moretti shipping fleet,” Adrian corrected her mercilessly.
A soft, coded knock sounded at the private service door hidden behind the bookshelves.
Adrian turned the brass latch and pulled the panel inward.
An older gentleman with silver hair, wearing wire-rimmed spectacles and carrying a heavy medical valise, stepped into the room.
His tuxedo bow tie was crooked, indicating he had been pulled directly from the gala downstairs.
“Adrian, what on earth is happening?” the older man demanded in a low, cultivated voice.
“Your head of security nearly tackled me in the corridor.”
“The guests downstairs are whispering that you have lost your mind over a domestic dispute.”
“Shut the door, Samuel,” Adrian commanded quietly.
Dr. Samuel Vance closed the secret panel and turned around, his eyes immediately landing on Elena.
The doctor stopped dead in his tracks.
His spectacles slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose.
“My God,” Samuel whispered, his breath catching in his throat.
“Look at her face.”
“She has Julianna’s bone structure,” Adrian said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“And she was wearing Julianna’s swallow crest beneath her uniform.”
Samuel Vance set his medical valise down on the nearest table with trembling hands.
“Julianna died off the coast of Rhode Island, Adrian,” Samuel said, his voice shaking with long-buried grief.
“We found the wreckage of the cabin cruiser.”
“We buried an empty mahogany casket in the family mausoleum.”
Adrian pulled the silver necklace from his breast pocket and tossed it onto the desk.
The metal clattered against the polished wood.
Samuel approached the desk as if approaching an unexploded bomb.
He picked up the pendant, examined the tiny vellum note inside, and pressed a hand over his mouth.
“This is Julianna’s handwriting,” Samuel murmured, his eyes turning watery behind his lenses.
“The sequence code from our father’s maritime ledger.”
Adrian walked over to Elena, who stood pressed against the edge of the leather sofa like a cornered animal.
“We need absolute certainty,” Adrian said, looking down at her bandaged hand.
“Samuel, take a genetic swab.”
“Compare it with the umbilical tissue samples preserved in the private family vault.”
“No,” Elena protested, pulling her arms tightly against her chest.
“I did not give you permission to touch me.”
“I do not want your money, and I do not want your name.”
Adrian stepped closer, his gaze softening by a fraction of an inch.
“This is not about money, Elena,” he said, his voice dropping into a register that sounded almost gentle.
“If you are Julianna’s daughter, you are my niece.”
“You are the only piece of my sister that exists in this world.”
“And I spent twenty-two years believing I had let her die alone in the ocean.”
Elena looked at the powerful, feared man standing before her.
For all his wealth and brutal reputation, his eyes held an emptiness that mirrored the grief she had carried since her mother’s burial.
Slowly, reluctantly, Elena lowered her defensive posture.
Dr. Vance stepped forward quietly, pulling a sterile collection swab and a collection vial from his leather bag.
“Just a quick swab against the inside of your cheek, my dear,” Samuel said softly, his bedside manner returning.
“It will not hurt at all.”
Elena opened her mouth, allowing the cotton tip to scrape against her inner cheek.
Samuel sealed the swab in a plastic container and labeled it with a black marker.
“How long will the private sequencer take?” Adrian demanded.
“Three hours if I run it in the estate’s basement laboratory,” Samuel answered, packing his instruments away.
“Dominic will escort you downstairs and lock the laboratory doors from the outside,” Adrian ordered.
“No one enters, and no one leaves until the match is confirmed.”
Samuel nodded grimly and slipped back through the hidden service door.
Adrian turned back to Elena, whose face was completely pale under the warm desk lamps.
“Now,” Adrian said, pointing toward an adjoining door that led to his private guest quarters.
“You are going to wash the blood from your hands, put on clean clothes, and wait.”
“And if the test is negative?” Elena challenged, her voice quivering with defiance.
“Then I will pay your mother's debts, give you ten million dollars, and let you walk out that gate at sunrise,” Adrian answered.
“And if it is positive?” she whispered.
May you like
Adrian’s jaw set into hard, uncompromising lines.
“If it is positive, Elena, the people who murdered your mother will finally realize that her ghost has come home to take everything back.”
